


The Maze of Lovers

by sweet_cottontail



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:11:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4135293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_cottontail/pseuds/sweet_cottontail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Many years ago, legend told of a magical garden maze whose hedges were lined from top to bottom with beautiful, red Tudor roses. Cultures far and wide called it the Maze of Lovers. This maze, much like Brigadoon, came in to existence in a random part of the world for one day every hundred years—Saint Valentine’s Day...gaining power from love and affection of all variations, and bringing joy to those who entered and strengthening their love in return.</p>
<p>However, when the maze found itself in London on Valentine’s Day of 1756, what was once a bounty of peace and love would turn to a nightmare for those who dared enter..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Many years ago, legend told of a magical garden maze whose hedges were lined from top to bottom with beautiful, red Tudor roses. Cultures far and wide called it the Maze of Lovers. This maze, much like Brigadoon, came in to existence in a random part of the world for one day every hundred years—Saint Valentine’s Day. Each century, lovers would find the maze wherever it popped up and travel inside. The maze gained power from love and affection of all variations, and that was how it stayed alive, bringing joy to those who entered and strengthening their love in return.

However, when the maze found itself in London on Valentine’s Day of 1756, what was once a bounty of peace and love would turn to a nightmare for those who dared enter because of one man—William Penn.

William was chipper young man of sixteen with raven hair that gleamed in the sunlight and eyes as blue as the ocean. He was handsome, tall, pale, and oh-so irresistible. Some said that his voice alone could bring men, women, and children alike to tears from its sheer calmness and grace. Women all over London had tried to bestow favors to him to show him their love, but all were cast away. Unfortunately for those girls, young William only had eyes for one woman—Agnes Smith.

Agnes was an angel in William’s eyes; golden hair that paled the sunlight, bright red lips that shamed even the reddest rose, lovely freckled skin, and the most beautiful green eyes that sparkled like emeralds. To William, she was perfect. He wanted her, needed her. He had spoken to her father, the Judge Percival Smith, many times in hope of gaining his permission to marry the young Agnes. Fortunately for William, the judge was a fair man.

_“I will give you permission to marry my daughter,” Judge Smith told William the day before, “if you are able to be the first man to catch her eye on Saint Valentine’s Day. If you, my boy are the first man she sees, you may marry her.”_

_“Oh, thank you sir!” William said happily. “I promise I will make a happy bride of your daughter.” The young man shook the judge’s hand, and departed._

As William walked down the cobblestone streets of London, roses in hand and ready to marry his beloved, the conversation between the judge and himself played in his head. He was going to be the first man Lady Agnes saw on that day of love if it was the last thing he did. But as he arrived to the house of the judge, he came to an abrupt stop, appalled at the sight he saw through his intended’s bedroom window.

William saw Agnes, his beautiful and supposed bride-to-be, in the arms of another man. The young bachelor felt his heart break in his chest. He couldn’t believe his horrible luck. Tears welled up in the young man’s eyes as he ran back down the cobblestone streets towards the woods. The blue-eyed boy cursed whatever cruel god had allowed this to happen. In one day, his dreams had been shattered, his heart broken, and all his faith destroyed. William refused to believe that any type of god or faith would allow this to happen to him. All his hope had been shattered and William found that he had lost the will to live.

After running through the woods for what seemed like hours, William came across the Maze of Lovers and walked inside. The entity within the magical maze sensed his pain and tried to bring him joy, but to no avail. With a deadness in his eyes, William found his way to the center of the maze and—with a knife from his pocket—stabbed himself through the heart. As he died, his blood sank into the earth, and the darkness in his heart corrupted the magic of this once beautiful entity, turning it destructive and evil.

Legend says that William’s spirit still haunts the maze, acting now as the master of this botanical hell. The maze still travels throughout the world, but now unknowing lovers wander in and find woe and misery at every turn. No one has seen the maze in over two-hundred years, but some believe it still exists, the spirit of William Penn lurking inside waiting to take his next victim.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations at the end.

“Dude, that is the lamest story I have ever heard in my life!”

England glared coldly at America. “It’s not a story, you git! It actually happened!”

“But how is that a good story for Valentine’s Day?” Japan, asked. “The only thing that would do is scare people!”

“I agree,” China said, hugging his oversized Shinatty-chan doll to his chest. “You western nations really don’t know how to tell a good story.”

The big-browed nation grew angrier at his fellow countries. “I told you, it’s not a story! It really happened! I knew William Penn!”

“Oh, _Angleterre 1_,” France chuckled, “you and your funny little imagination never cease to amaze me.”

England angrily yanked France up by his shirt collar. “I dare you to say that again, you damn uncultured frog!”

“That’s enough!” Germany shouted over the commotion. “We called this meeting to discuss the preparations for this year’s Valentine’s Day party, not to create a fight where it isn’t warranted! Now just shut up and pay attention!”

The nations sitting around the large table turned their attention to the front of the room, silent. It was already a well-known fact to the nations; when Germany gives an order, it’s no use arguing. Everyone silently returned to their seats.

“Alright,” Germany said, “we need to figure out where this event is going to be held. Does anyone have any suggestions on the venue?” The room fell silent, save for the small Italian in the back frantically raising his hand.

“Ooh! Ooh! Germany!” Italy called trying to get his friend’s attention. “Germany! I have an idea!”

Germany pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance of his hyperactive ally. “Yes, Italy,” he replied, “What is it?”

The redhead smiled brightly. “Well,” he started, “I was thinking we could have the party in a flower garden. It would be super fun because we’d have sunshine, birds, and it’s perfect for Valentine’s Day because of the flowers!”

France smiled at the idea. “I do love the idea of a garden party, _petit frère 2_.” England rolled his eyes at the Frenchman, ever annoyed at anything that came out of his mouth.

Liechtenstein smiled and nodded in agreement. “That sounds like a lovely idea. Don’t you think so, Vash?” the small nation looked up at her brother, her bottle-green eyes brightened.

Switzerland couldn’t help but blush at his sister’s expression. He averted his eyes slightly and replied, “That does sound like a good idea, Liechtenstein.” The blonde girl smiled contently.

“That’d be so awesome!” America loudly agreed. “The New York Botanical Gardens would be totally perfect! We could have booze and music. Dude, it’ll be super rad!”

“Who invited him to this meeting?” Austria complained. “He’s getting on my last nerve here!” Hungary squeezed her ex-husband’s hand in an attempt to calm him down.

“Unfortunately,” Russia spoke up, “his country is hosting the party this year, so we have to put up with his constant yapping for the next few days.”

America glared at his former ally. “No one asked for your damn opinion, commie bastard,” the blue eyed nation said, keeping an angry gaze on the former communist nation.

Fixing his scarf, the larger nation shot a threatening smile back at the blond. “As you may recall, _Amerika_ , I am no longer a communist. I’m a democracy, just like you.”

“You are nothing like me, you giant creep!”

“Are you sure about that, Alfred?”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Germany’s voice boomed over the argument. “I thought we were supposed to be peacefully discussing this!”

The two superpowers hung their heads and turned away from each other. They crossed their arms and mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Good.” Germany responded, turning back towards the rest of the nations. “Now that we have the venue set, we should start planning this thing out.” The other countries nodded in agreement.

* * *

 

At 10:30 pm, the meeting of the nations had finally been adjourned and the countries were starting to file out and head back to their hotel.

“Everyone, the meeting tomorrow starts at 11:00 am sharp,” German said. “And if you’re planning to go out tonight, take an umbrella. It’s supposed to rain, and I don’t want anyone getting sick because of the weather.”

The nations mumbled their replies as they continued to leave. Russia and America, remained in the meeting room, saying their goodbyes and avoiding eye-contact with each other.

“Hey, Al,” Canada said, stopping in front of his brother, “are you still coming to dinner with me and England?”

“Nah,” America said. “I don’t want to listen to Iggy complain all night. If I wanted that, I’d just make him watch my version of _The Office_.” He laughed, stopping when he realized Canada wasn’t joining in. “Besides, I still have some stupid paperwork I have to fill out. I’ll just meet you back at the hotel later, ‘kay bro?”

Canada nervously looked between Russia and his brother. _‘Should I really leave these two alone? Last time I did that, we almost got World War III.’_ “Alright, then,” he said. “I’ll see you later.” With one last look, he left the meeting room and closed the door, leaving the two superpowers alone.

The two men looked up at each other when the door closed. Russia got up from the table and locked the doors, shooting his “enemy” a playful grin.

America clicked his pen closed and turned to Russia. “I thought they’d never leave,” he said as he strode over to the taller man.

“Neither did I, _zvedza 3_,” Russia said roughly. He grabbed America by his tie and pulled him into a bruising kiss, which America gladly returned.

America pushed himself forward on his toes, gripping the front of Russia’s jacket to pull him down closer. “You know,” he mumbled as their lips parted, “it’s a real pain in the ass to kiss you.”

“Why, is that, Alfred?” Russia asked, pressing a kiss to the shorter man’s cheek.

“Because you’re so damn tall,” America said, his cheeks turning bright red. “How am I supposed to be the one in charge if you’re seven-foot-gigantic?”

Russia rolled his eyes. “One, I’m 182 centimeters. And two, the answer is simple!” He bent down and kissed America’s neck. “You don’t.” He sighed and sucked at the spot.

“A-Ah, Ivan,” America gasped. “Ivan…Ivan, stop.” He pulled his boyfriend off, as much as he didn’t want to. “No neck marks, remember?”

Russia pouted, hating their arrangement more and more by the day.

“Hey, don’t give me that look! You’re the one who came up with the rules in the first place,” America argued as Russia continued to pout. He sighed and kissed the corner of his boyfriend’s lips. “We just have to keep this up until we figure out how to tell our bosses…and England.”

“Why does _he_ have to know? He’s not your parent.”

“No, but he raised me, so he’s kind of like family. And I don’t want any more bad blood with him, and that dude holds a grudge forever! I’m surprised he didn’t figure it out when you called me ‘Alfred’.”

Russia sighed and sat down on the edge of the table. “We cannot keep sneaking around like this,” he said. “And I’d rather not have us be outed by some stupid little country that catches us.”

“You think everyone is ‘stupid leetle country’,” America said in his terrible Russian accent. He sighed and sat next to Russia, resting his head on his broad shoulder. “We’ll figure something out…”

“ _Da_ , I know,” Russia replied, pressing a kiss to America’s forehead. “We’re always left to make hard decisions, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” America replied. “Life sucks that way.”

* * *

 

Meanwhile, in a top floor suite at the Hilton Hotel in center of New York, the usually calm and collected Germany was completely distraught and panicking. He paced back and forth in front of his bed, trying to think of a solution to a problem he had, yet coming up with nothing.

“Hey, West,” Prussia shouted as he fiddled with the remote, “what’s wrong with you? You look stressed, but not the constipated stressed you usually look.” Gilbird chirped in agreement from atop Prussia’s head.

“I don’t look constipated!” Germany argued.

“You do when you’re thinking about something really hard,” Prussia said. “You look like you’re trying to push a barrel out of your ass—a barrel made of crappy wood that’s filled with beer, so you have to also try not to get splinters and beer in your butthole.”

“That’s disgusting,” Germany cringed. “It’s nothing, Gilbert. You shouldn’t worry about it.”

“Come on, West,” Prussia persisted. “Talk to big brother. Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me. Tell me. West, tell me. Tell me. Tell me-”

“If I tell you, will you shut the hell up?!” Germany snapped.

Prussia nodded, internally praising himself. “Now spill it! What’s your problem?”

“Well…” Germany sighed, “I want to confess something to someone on Valentine’s Day, but I don’t know how to go about it.”

“Oh, so you’re just emotionally constipated.” Prussia smirked, leaning against his younger brother. “Well, never fear, _mein bruder 4_! The awesome me is here to help you!”

“Right. With all your relationship success, you’ll work wonders,” Germany said, voice thick with sarcasm.

“Just trust me on this, Ludwig. So, who is this special someone that you want to confess your love to?”

“I never said it was a love confession!” Germany shouted.

“What other confessions are there on Valentine’s day?” Prussia cackled. “So who the hell is it? What are they like?”

Germany blushed as the image of the happy-go-lucky Italy popped into his mind. He kept his eyes diverted from Prussia to hide his embarrassment. “W-Well,” he stammered, “they’re very…cute, I guess…small, a bit loud, and really high maintenance. I mean _really_ high maintenance. _Mein Gott_ , sometimes I want to rip my hair out because they get on my nerves so much!” He took a deep breath before continuing.

“But,” the blonde said, forgetting for a moment that his brother was listening, “once you get past all that, they’re truly kind, friendly, and just lovable in ways I didn’t even think were possible.”

Prussia’s eyes widened as a revelation came. “Oh my awesome, you’re in love with Italy!”

A dark blush covered Germany’s whole face. “D-Don’t say it like that!” he stuttered, embarrassed. “I’m not in love with him! I just…happen to think he’d make a good partner, that’s all.”

The albino chuckled at his brother’s nervous attitude. “Sure, West,” Prussia chuckled, “whatever you say.” Gilbird winked at him, knowing what their next mission would be: get Italy and Germany together at any cost.

Fortunately, they didn’t have much work to do.

* * *

 

“No! I’m not going to help you with something that stupid!”

In another room of the Hilton, Italy was practically on his knees begging for his brother’s help. But Romano was being more stubborn than usual, most likely because of his hatred for Germany.

“ _Fratello 5_, please,” the younger Italy begged, “I really need your help.”

Romano turned away from his twin and continued to pout. “No! I’m not going to help you get with that stupid potato bastard! You can go to hell!”

Tears welled up in the smaller Italian’s eyes. “B-But you’re my big brother.” Italy cried. “You’re supposed to help me whenever I need it. Please, Lovi, I’m begging you. I really love him.”

The dark-haired twin looked at his brother in horror. “Okay, now I’m definitely not helping you!” Romano then stormed into the hotel bathroom and locked the door.

“Lovino!” Italy cried, knocking at the bathroom door. “Why do you hate him so much?! Just because you hate him doesn’t mean you have to ruin this for me! _Fratello, aprire la porta, per favore 6_!”

“ _Vaffanculo 7_!” Romano shouted back.

Italy stared at the door, his sadness quickly turning to anger—something he rarely felt. “Fine,” he shouted at brother, “don’t help me! I’ll just go ask big brother France for help!”

Romano winced as he heard their room door slam. “Ugh, _idiota_ ,” he groaned. More than anything, he was worried that Italy would end up getting his heart broken again; just like what happened with Holy Rome hundreds of years ago, which he knew the younger Italy had not yet gotten over.

It was a known fact that—while nations were practically immortal—one day they would disappear if a country dissolved, got taken over, or if they simply weren’t needed anymore. The same thing happened to their grandfather, Holy Rome, Germania, and so many others that had once been close friends or family. Despite Romano’s own relationship with Spain, he knew that nations falling in love could only end in heartbreak for everyone involved.

_‘Why would Veneziano put himself through that again?’_

* * *

 

Italy wiped his tears as he walked down the hall to France’s room, already regretting getting so mad at Romano. But it didn’t make sense; since the beginning, his brother had always been at odds with Germany for no reason whatsoever. It made some sort of sense during wartime, but now that it was over, why bother with the hostility? Granted, Romano was like that with everyone, but it hurt the most when it was towards Germany.

Italy sighed and stopped in front of France’s hotel room, but didn’t raise a hand to knock. Maybe the reason Romano hated Germany was because it would be breaking Italy’s promise to Holy Rome if they got together. It had been over a millennium since they met and hundreds of years since his first love died in war, but he still promised to wait. Was he making a mistake by trying to move on?

 _‘No,’_ Italy thought to himself, _‘he would want me to be happy! Being with Ludwig has made me the happiest I’ve been in at least seven hundred years. Holy Rome would want me to find happiness without him!’_ He nodded and knocked twice at the door. He then stepped back and waited for the nation of love to answer.

Several seconds later the door opened, and France stood in the door wearing nothing but a half-open, short, and very floral silk robe and held a glass of red wine in his hand. “Feliciano,” the Frenchman said, surprise apparent in his voice, “what are you doing here this late at night?”

The small Italian stood in front of the half-naked nation, a newfound determination brewing inside him. “I need your advice on something, _fratello_.”

France smiled and allowed Italy inside. “Not to worry, _mon petit frère_ ,” he said. “Big brother is here to help.”

* * *

 

“That was probably the most disgusting dinner I’ve had in a long time,” England complained as he walked down the streets of New York City with Canada. “I honestly don’t know how you can stand to eat that fried crap all the time.”

“I don’t really eat fast food that much,” Canada said in his usual hushed tone. “But maybe you shouldn’t complain so much. I mean, at least you got food, right. And you weren’t complaining inside the restaurant.”

“That’s only because I was hungry and there was nothing else to eat. Seriously, how do people stomach that crap? It’s a miracle everyone in this country isn’t dying from clogged arteries.”

 _‘Now you know how people feel about your food’_ Canada thought, understanding now why Alfred avoided the dinner. “You know if you were just going to complain the whole time, why didn’t you just stay back at the hotel?”

“Because, I have to share a room with that damn frog,” England continued to complain, “and I do not plan on staying in that dreaded room with him all night.”

“You didn’t mind it so much when we were younger,” Canada said.

“A lot has changed since then, Alfred,” England grumbled. “That prick isn’t worth the dirt on my shoe. God, I hate him so much.”

“Matthew,” Canada quietly corrected. He stayed silent for a moment before adding, “You know, Papa used to tell me that the opposite of love wasn’t hate. It’s indifference.” He looked at England with a knowing smile. “At least if you hate someone, it still means you care.”

England blushed dark red and stopped in the middle of a crosswalk to yell at Canada. “I don’t care about that damn frog in the least! And you’re an idiot for thinking so, fat-ass!”

“I’m not Ameri-” Canada’s correction was cut off by a cab honking at them, and the driver giving them the finger. “S-Sorry,” he said, dragging himself and England out of the crosswalk. He ignored his former guardian the rest of the walk back to the hotel; he’d had enough being ignored for one night.

A few blocks down, England heard the quiet sound of thunder in the distance. He knew there was going to be rain, but a thunderstorm seemed odd this time of year. Regardless, he began to walk faster.

Once the two nations arrived at the Hilton, they went their separate ways without as much as a nod good-bye. England got into the elevator and pushed the top floor button. As the doors closed, he remembered Canada’s words from before.

“The opposite of love isn’t hate, huh?” He mumbled to himself. “Yeah right. I don’t care for that frog. I never have and I never will. He hasn’t done anything to help me unless it was convenient for him. That stupid uncultured frog…helped me raise Canada and America when they were little colonies. Plus he did practically raise me. And he was the one who comforted me after Alfred gained independence. He helped me heal after the London Blitz, even when he was in pain from Germany taking over his country.”

A small smile crossed the usually angry man’s face. “Maybe he isn’t all bad…I do owe him my life.”

As the elevator got off on his floor, Arthur stepped out and made his way back to his suite that he shared with France. He took out his key-card and opened the door, his eyes widening at the sight in front of him:

On the edge of his bed, with his arm wrapped suggestively around Italy, was a half-naked France holding a rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> 1\. England  
> 2\. little brother  
> 3\. star  
> 4\. my brother  
> 5\. brother  
> 6\. Brother, open the door, please!  
> 7\. Fuck off!


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh, _Angleterre_ ,” France said, his arm still around Italy’s shoulders, “I didn’t expect you to come back so soon. How was your dinner?”

England just stood in the doorway, still shocked at whatever he’d just walked in on. His eyes then narrowed into a glare. “You just can’t keep it in your bloody pants, can you?” He snapped. “And on my bed?! What the hell is he even doing here?!”

Italy cowered in fear behind France. “B-Big brother was just giving me advice on how to confess my love to Germany, that’s all! I didn’t know that you would get angry if we sat on your bed to do that. If I had known, I would have just sat on Francis’s bed! Please don’t kill me!” The tiny nation shuddered and hid under the covers.

England frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not going to kill you. Just get the hell out of here.”

“Getting the hell out of here,” Italy said, quickly thanking France before leaving the room.

“And you,” England ordered France, averting his eyes away toward the wall, “put some clothes on!”

Francis sighed as he got up to change into more “appropriate” attire. “Honestly, _Angleterre_ , you need to stop jumping to conclusions. I was not going to do anything bad to my little Italy. He was just lovesick and needed advice from the country of _l’amour_.”

England rolled his eyes and sat down on his bed. “Please, there are plenty of other romance nations he could have asked,” he complained. “And why did you have to be naked in a tiny robe to give him love advice?! And where do you keep getting the damn roses from?! Those are _my_ national flower, you arsehole!”

Now changed into a pair of sweatpants, a sly grin crossed France’s face as he sauntered toward the bushy-browed nation. “Arthur, you’re not jealous of _ma petite Italie,_ are you?”

England’s face immediately turned scarlet. “Y-You’re out of your bloody mind if you think I was jealous, frog!” He snapped, shoving France toward the other bed. “Why the hell would I even be jealous?! I’m not jealous!”

France rolled his eyes, catching England in his lie. “Because I’m not an idiot, despite what you think,” he said. “Plus, after all those nights we spent together when we were raising our colonies...” He gently rested a hand on England’s thigh. “I’d be flattered if you were jealous.”

“Fuck off!” England snapped, punching France in the jaw. “Let’s just get this straight; I hate you. I always have and I always will. You are a pathetic excuse of a man and have no right to call yourself one. You’ve slept with more people than most of us can even count to have dated, and that is nothing to be proud of! If you were a human, you probably would’ve died from the number of STD’s you’ve picked up over the years! The only reason you’ve ever asked for my help in anything is because it was convenient for you! I hate you Francis Bonnefoy!”

France rubbed his aching face, taken aback by England’s outburst. He hadn’t gone to such lengths to convince himself of his hatred when they were in private before. “Fine, continue to be in denial,” he said. “But no matter how hard you try, you’ve never been very good at hiding your true feelings.”

“Whatever, you moron,” Arthur said, fuming with rage and embarrassment. “I’m going to bed. And don’t try to sneak into my bed like you did last time!” He didn’t even bother to change into proper bed clothes before crawling under the comforter.

France sighed and did the same. “Okay, whatever you say, Arthur.”

As France reached turned their bedside light off, there was a sudden flash of lightning and a roll of thunder outside their window. “ _Mon dieu_!” he gasped, glancing over to see that England was shaking and completely under the comforter. “Arthur, are you okay?”

“I don’t need you crawling into my bed, if that’s what you’re asking!” England yelled, despite his trembling voice. “B-But…could you…turn the light back on, please?”

“Of course,” France said, flipping the lamp back up to a dim glow. He turned over and hoped England would be able to sleep through the night, despite the storm.

* * *

 

“Hey, Hanatamago,” Finland, asked his little white puppy, “what do you think Berwald is going to get me for Valentine’s Day?” The fluffy dog only yipped in response to his owner’s question, getting a sigh from the Fin.

Tino had been wondering for weeks what his “husband,” Sweden, was going to do for him this year on Valentine’s Day. Berwald had always gotten him the sweetest and most thoughtful gifts, and he was anxious to see what it would be this year. Since the Swede had been spending a lot of time out of the house and had been hiding from his “wife” a lot this year, Finland was sure it would be huge. The Nordic had tried to stay patient, putting it in his head that it was just like waiting for Christmas. But as time passed, he found it was harder to stay in that mindset; at least he always knew what Berwald was getting him for Christmas.

The door to the hotel room clicked, pulling Finland out of his train of thought as Sweden walked through the door, completely drenched with rain.

“Oh my god, Berwald,” Finland said, rushing up to his partner, “what happened? You’re completely soaked.”

“It started raining outside.” The taller Nordic said, calmly slipping out of his jacket. “I forgot my umbrella”

“I’m going to get you some dry clothes.” Tino said. He rushed over to Berwald’s suitcase and searched for something Sweden could sleep in.

Behind him, the Swede had begun to undress, hanging his wet clothes on the side of the desk chair. While undressing, he couldn’t help but stare at Finland on his knees looking through his suitcase. Sweden thought it was so cute how Tino didn’t even notice what he did to him sometimes.

“Alright,” Finland said, pulling out dry clothes, “I got you some comfy pajamas to change into.” He smiled and sat down next to his boyfriend, handing them to him.

Sweden smiled slightly and took the clothes. “Thank you, Tino,” he said, moving down to kiss his lover. Tino was surprised, for Sweden rarely showed affection even when they were in private. The small gesture made the smaller Nordic smile as their lips were locked.

Finland was the first to break the kiss. “So,” he said innocently, “what did you want to do now, because I am _far_ from tired.”

A faint smirk crossed Berwald’s face as he leaned down to meet his partner. “I think I have an idea,” he whispered seductively as he turned off the lamp on the bedside table.

* * *

 

Later that night, as the rainstorm poured over New York City, a dark aura settled down on Central Park. From out of the grass, hundreds of red rose bushes began emerging and taking their place among the greenery. The blood-red flowers went from leaf to bud to bloom in seconds, filling the area with their sweet scent. On the stems were sharp, dark thorns—thicker and sharper than any usually found on a Tudor rose.

As the flowers continued to erupt through the grass and concrete, a dark mist covered the rain-drenched grass and floated above the ponds throughout the park. From the center of the mist emerged a dark figure whose crimson eyes glowed in the moonlight. The figure stalked up to a bush full of blooms and stroked the crimson petals.

“My pets,” the spirit chanted into the night, “let us raise hell.”

* * *

 

The following morning, the nations regrouped to discuss the plans for the Valentine’s Day party, which was now only three days away. The room was abuzz with the nations swapping ideas of food, games, and decorations. However, England was struggling to stay awake after the previous night’s storm.

“Alright,” Germany said, calling the world to order, “I appreciate all the preparations being made so in advance, but we still need to decide on where this party is going to be held. It seems like everyone agreed on Italy’s garden party idea from yesterday,” Germany flashed a small, unnoticed smile towards the Italian, “and America’s botanical gardens right here in the city seem to be a good idea. Now we just have to make sure the venue is available for the fourteenth.”

“Come on, of course it’s gonna be available,” America said. “Besides, even if it isn’t, they can’t exactly turn down the national Valentine’s bash of the year! That’s just rude, man.”

“I can think of several reasons why they would turn _you_ down,” Switzerland interposed. “If we’re going to book this thing, we shouldn’t send him to book the venue. He’ll just ruin everything.”

“Hey, I thought you were supposed to be a neutral country!” America cried. “Why would I ruin it? It’s _my_ city!”

“Well,” Japan started, “you are rather abrasive sometimes, America-san. Florists in particular don’t exactly take kindly to loud noises no matter where they’re from.”

“And we all know that you tend to be loud at very inappropriate times, _Amerika_ ,” Russia added, playfully grinning at America.

America’s cheeks instantly turned pink. “D-Dude, shut up! That’s not even a funny joke, you weirdo!”

“Don’t call my Vanya names, _tolstyak,_ ” Belarus threatened, glaring at America as she gripped her brother’s waist.

The Russian nation laughed nervously as he tried to escape the grasp of his insane sister. “Alright, Natalia, you can let go now.” As much as he struggled, the small but strong girl refused to let go.

Belarus grinned and leaned in closer to her older brother. “I’ll let go of you when you agree to marry me, Vanya,” she said, making everyone in the room—especially Russia and America—incredibly uncomfortable.

“We need to focus, countries!” America shouted to cover up his jealousy. Everyone immediately turned their attention to him, if only to ignore whatever was going on with Belarus. “Alright, if we’re going to make this garden party happen, we need someone to go out to the New York Botanical Gardens to book the venue today. It’s on really short notice, but I think that once they see exactly who we are, they won’t be able to refuse us. And since the majority think _I_ shouldn’t be the one to go,” he shot a look at Switzerland, “I need a volunteer to go speak to the manager at the Gardens.”

“I’ll go,” France said, standing proudly. “By the end of the day, we’ll have the venue booked, and maybe a few extras if we’re lucky.” On the other side of the table, England groaned in annoyance at his enemy nation. The Frenchman glared at him. “Is there something you want to say to me, _Angleterre?_ ”

Arthur chuckled lightly at the bearded man. “Frog, there are so many things I’d like to say to you right now, but considering there is a child in the room,” he gestured to Liechtenstein, “It’d be best if I refrained.” The young girl pouted.

Francis smirked. “Are you implying that you could do a better job closing the deal than me, _sourcils_?”

“I could be able to finish the job faster with my eyes closed!” England challenged.

“Why don’t you come with me then so we can prove that theory?”

“Maybe I will!”

“Good!”

“Fine!” England’s eyes widened in realization of what he had just done. A faint blush of embarrassment and fury crossed the former empire’s face as he sank back down in his seat.

The proud Frenchman followed suit, a sly grin still plastered to his face. _‘Reverse psychology works every time,’_ he thought.

“Alright, now that we have that settled,” Germany said, “we will have France and England look for the venue during the second half of the meeting while the rest of us continue to discuss preparations for the party.” All the nations—excluding Greece, who was fast asleep as usual—nodded in agreement. “Now then, you’re all called to break.”

Several countries darted up and left the room as soon as they were allowed—and Russia couldn’t have gotten away from his sister faster. A few nations remained in the meeting hall, either finishing up business or catching up on sleep.

“Germany,” Italy cried, excitedly hugging Germany, making the blond blush. “I forgot to give you your hug this morning! I wanted to make it up to you before I forgot. Also, I wanted to tell you that your hair looks nice today.”

Germany nervously nodded in response and hugged Italy, slightly taken aback by the compliment. “Thank you, _Italien_ ,” he stammered. “Your hair looks nice too.” He smiled as the smaller nation broke the hug. His attention was momentarily caught by the still-sleeping Greece. _‘He’s even worse than Feliciano. Why hasn’t anyone woken him the hell up?!’_

“Greece-san,” Japan said, gently nudging Greece’s shoulder, reading the mood instantly—or just Germany’s mind. “Please wake up. You slept through half of the meeting.”

Greece woke up slowly, his eyes finding Japan in moments. “Kiku,” he whispered, reaching up to run his fingers through Japan’s soft black hair.

“Please don’t pet me in public,” Japan said, blushing.

Across the room, France watched the interactions between Italy and Germany, proud of his little brother for taking initiative in getting his romance. However, that pride was once again ruined by England’s complaining.

“I can’t believe you tricked me into coming with you,” England grumbled. “Now I’m going to have to spend a day walking around a city I hate with a man I hate. How much worse can this day get?”

The bearded nation shrugged. “That was your own fault for falling into the trap, _Angleterre_ , not mine,” he said. “If you want, we can stop by Starbucks on the way over so you aren’t as tired and cranky.”

“I am not tired nor cranky, you absolute douche!” England shouted, almost immediately followed by a soft yawn.

“Right,” France said. “Just look at it this way: we’re going to get something done, and then you won’t have to speak to me for the rest of the day. Sound good?”

England rubbed his eyes, turning away from France and nodding. “I suppose you have a point.”

“I know I do,” France said confidently, only irritating England more. “Trust me, _mon ami_ , this day will go completely according to plan.”

* * *

 

By 1:30 that afternoon, France and England were both sitting in the back of a cab, irritated and disappointed with their day and with each other; although it was harder to tell which was taking the reins at this point.

“Ziz day will go according to plan, ziz day will go according to plan,” England bitterly mimicked as he cleaned cold coffee off his shirt. “This day will go according to plan my arse! Everything today has gone the opposite of how it was meant to go, no thanks to you and your idiocy!”

“How the hell was I supposed to know the gardens wouldn’t be available until next month?” France argued. “It was an honest mistake!”

“A mistake that could have been avoided if you had just looked it up on the internet, you tool!” England threw his damp napkins at France’s face. “Thanks to you, I’ve had to drag myself all over this bloody filthy city for nothing, and now my favorite shirt is ruined!”

France sighed, peeling the wet paper from his face. “That last thing wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t taken your anger out on that botanist. You always have had such a terrible temper.”

“Because you constantly get on my nerves!” England shouted.

“No more than you get on mine,” France said, “but at least I have the decency not to take out my aggression on other people.”

England growled and pushed the door of the cab open. “Fuck you!” He shouted back at France, storming down the street.

“Arthur!” France called after the blond.

“Hey!” Their cabbie snapped with a glare. “You still need to pay for the trip.”

France rolled his eyes and gave their driver the remaining cash from his wallet. “Keep the change,” he said as he closed the door of the car, following England down the crowded sidewalk. “Where are you going?”

“Central Park,” England said. “I need to take a walk, and get as far away from you as possible, so fuck off.”

England started to break into a speed-walk, which France met in equal speed. Then the Anglo broke into a run, cutting across businesspeople and tourists just to get away from his enemy. Four blocks later, concrete turned to grass and he stopped running, if only for a few seconds. However, France was right there within seconds of his very short victory.

“Do you know how many people I’ve had to apologize to because of your actions?” France asked, panting and irritated. “All this just to run away from me.”

England caught his breath and stood up to glare at Francis. “I wouldn’t have to run away if you would just leave well enough alone. Fuck off.”

 “Why do you detest me so much, Arthur?”

The question struck the Englishman by surprise. “I…I don’t…” Arthur struggled to come up with an answer. “Why does it matter to you?” He quickly spat.

“Because I want to know what brought on this hatred of me,” Francis said, trying to keep his tone kind. “I don’t remember doing anything terrible to you!”

“Oh, you don’t?” England laughed bitterly. “You don’t remember keeping me from gaining independence, the Hundred Years War, Agincourt, the Seven Years War, aiding America during his revolution, and all the other hell you’ve put me through over the years?! That’s bullshit, Francis! That is such bullshit!”

The French nation glared back. “May I remind you that you also killed thousands of my people in all those wars? You didn’t bother to help me during the French Revolution when my country was being torn apart bit by bit, you took _mon petite Matthieu_ away from me, and you killed my precious _Jeanne d'Arc_ for no reason other than your own amusement.” His tone was frighteningly calm. “I have every reason to hate you, _England,_ but _I_ at least try to break the stereotype that our people hate each other. But I suppose I’m to just hold all the blame for everything, aren’t I?” France shoved past England, growing sick of looking at his face.

Arthur stood there in shocked silence for what felt like centuries. He began to consider how right France was about everything and how much of a prick he’d been. He felt sick to his stomach. “Shit,” he cursed, running a hand through his hair and turning to face Francis. “N-No, you’re right. I’m so-“

“Shut up.” France held his hand up to the blonde nation and looked around in awe at the sight in front of him; thousands of red rose bushes as far as the eye can see were in full bloom all around him. The blonde couldn’t believe his eyes. It was perfect.

Behind him, Arthur stood there in utter confusion. “Don’t tell me to shut up, I’m trying to apologi-” The Briton caught sight of what had France in a state of shock and awe; unfortunately, all Arthur felt was confusion and slight terror. “W-What the bloody hell is all of this?”

“This,” France said, practically in tears, “is where our party is going to take place, _Angleterre_. It’s just perfect!”

England supposed their conversation from before was long forgotten to the Frenchman as he began taking pictures of the area. He supposed everything had been solved where he and France were concerned, but he still couldn’t shake this horrible feeling he had in his stomach.

* * *

 

Back at the Hilton, Germany had been standing in front of his bathroom mirror all day agonizing about how to confess his feelings to Italy. Unfortunately, he found himself choking up, the image of the bouncy Italian plastered in his mind.

“I-Italy,” the German started again, “…I know I haven’t been the nicest to you…even though you did deserve it sometimes…b-but I just wanted to let you know that I…I…”

“Love you?” An amused voice finished.

Germany jumped and turned to see Hungary standing in the doorway, a small grin on her face. “Eliza,” he sighed. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. I could have killed you.”

“You could have tried,” she joked, “but I would have snapped your neck first.”

Germany chuckled and combed back his hair with his fingers. “Not to be rude, but what are you doing here?”

“Gilbert told me that you were planning on confessing your feelings for Italy,” Hungary said. “Since you Germans sort of suck at expressing your emotions, I figured I’d help.”

“I told him that in confidence!” Germany snapped. “I’ll kill him and his big mouth.”

“Lud, relax. He’s just trying to help, which is why I’m here.” Hungary walked into the bathroom and stood beside Germany. “Confessing your feelings is never easy. You need to just calm down.”

“How can I calm down? This isn’t anything like I’ve faced before.” Germany sighed. “ _Mein Gott_ , look at me. I’ve conquered nations and bested entire empires in war, and I’m reduced to a bumbling mess.” He looked at Hungary’s reflection. “How did you tell Roderich how you felt about him?”

Hungary smiled sadly at her own reflection. “It took me years to even consider he would see me as anything other than a maid,” she said, “but then I began to see how he stared at me when he thought I wasn’t looking...it was the same look I’d given him for decades.” “He was never going to come around to telling me on his own, so I had to be the one to do it. I told him while he was composing a new piece for a gala,” she giggled and looked back at Germany. “I thought he was going to go into shock after I told him…but he eventually came out of it, and the rest is history.”

“Right,” Germany replied, looking back at himself. “But what if he doesn’t love me back.”

“Ludwig, he gave you underwear for Christmas and sleeps with you naked,” Hungary said. “I think he loves you back.”

The younger German smiled. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” She said, stepping out of the reflection. “Now, I want you to look in that mirror and say ‘Italy, I love you.’”

Germany nodded as he turned back towards the nervous reflection staring back at him. The image of Italy ran through his mind on an endless loop, his soft voice echoing inside of the German’s head. All of the memories of protecting, comforting, and being around Italy made the blonde’s heart beat faster in his chest. It scared Germany and made him wonder why Italy still stuck by him after all the horrible things he’d done to him, his country, and the rest of the world. But he tossed it aside, knowing that no matter what, Italy would always stick by his side.

“Italy…Feliciano Vargas,” he started, “I lo-“

“Hey, West, get your ass out here!” Prussia shouted as he barged into their hotel room. Germany cursed the idea of bringing Prussia with him to the world meetings, considering he wasn’t even an actual country anymore.

Hungary rolled her eyes and patted Germany’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” she said. “I promise.”

“’Sup, Eliza!” Prussia said, giving her a flirtatious grin. “To what do you own the pleasure of being here?”

“Actually helping your brother, for one,” Hungary said, shoving Prussia against the wall as she walked out. “Bye Ludwig!”

Germany gave her a small wave as he practically peeled his brother off of the wall. “You need to stop talking to her like that. It’s indecent.”

“That makes no sense! I wasn’t being indecent,” Prussia insisted. “I was just being my normal, awesome self. It’s not her fault she can’t appreciate it. I’m a better fit for her than that stuffy prick Austria anyway-“

“What did you come in here for, Gilbert?” Germany asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Oh yeah!” Prussia pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Francis told me he found the perfect place to have our party. He sent me pics from his phone. West, this place is awesome! Not as awesome as me, but still pretty awesome.”

“Okay, good.” Germany said, scrolling through the photos. “Tell him we’ll have the nations gather there tomorrow afternoon.”

“Can do, West!” the Prussian said, moving to the other room to call France.

* * *

 

That night in Central Park, while most of the city was fast asleep, a dark figure loomed over the fully-bloomed rose bushes with a wicked grin.

“This was almost too easy, wasn’t it my pets?” He hissed. “Such powerful affection, all in one place…it’s too good to be true.”

One of the roses curled itself around his arm, its sharp thorns retracting as it curled tighter.

“It’s almost time for feeding my lovelies,” he whispered, petting the lovely flowers petals. “Soon…very soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. All comments and Kudos are much appreciated!


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